Daze Gone Bye
by Knightfall1138
Summary: A run can go south at any time. It happens, but it never happened to Anders before the night Daze-E didn't come home. Now he wants revenge on the runners who let her die on the job, regardless of what that particular course of action will cost him.
1. All That's Left Behind

_»»»[A little birdy off the grapevine told me a bunch of empty slots just made a run at that abandoned tavern down in the Barrens... o.O]««« - ShyLow (02:33:46/06-7-54)_

_»»»[! ! !did they miss the twenty fragging threads about that place people've been making over the last week? empty slots indeed. i wouldn't make a run at that building with the entire Underground behind me. place was novahot! ! !]««« - gatzB (02:36:32/06-7-54)_

_»»»[Quit being so dramatic, gatz. Hindsight is always 20/20. If it had gone well, we'd have twenty more threads with runners saying they were *just* about to do the same thing. It always looks like a milk run until it's not.]««« - Strat-O-Various (03:01:05/06-7-54)_

* * *

Shadowrun: Daze Gone Bye

Chapter One – All That's Left Behind

* * *

Anders followed her body all they way to the local Corpse Grinders, and the mortician had the common decency to apologize for the sign outside the building.

"It was a drek name when the franchise was started, and it's even worse now that we're subsidized and utilized more than the actual mortuaries." The mortician shook his head. "You shouldn't be here, friend-o. The body's already been purchased. If we don't deliver... Well, let's just say those kinds of lawsuits are fairly indiscriminate. They swing wide and they swing hard."

Anders hadn't eaten in days, and it'd been even longer since he slept. Compounded by Daze-E's death, he was reaching a kind of weariness that made his surroundings indistinguishable from the astral. "I just need more time," he pleaded. "I'm _begging_ you. Please don't..." He motioned to the cold slab, to the laser-guided instruments, to the iceboxes that were already labeled with with the names of vital organs and a familiar blood type. "Please don't cut her up."

The dwarf mortician was looking just as rundown, but there was a kind of indifference there that gave the impression he'd had this talk a thousand times before tonight. "I need you to listen to what I'm saying, chummer. Are you doing that?"

Anders nodded.

"As I said when you first walked through those doors, Daisy Costigan's last will and testament is non-ex, and she was found on corporate property with corporate goods, having just shot at corporate security. Those are the three strikes that no one hopes to see." The mortician waited until he spotted some kind of response from Anders. "Now, I'm going to make a leap in judgment and assume that you ran the shadows along with Miss Costigan. Is that correct?"

Another nod.

"So you know about the UCAS Salvage and Recovery Act. All runners do."

"All runners do," Anders echoed at a whisper.

The mortician steeled himself. "That means her corpse is corporate property. That means unless you can produce a will or 'sufficient interring funds' for a funeral before we're finished talking, there is nothing you or I can do about this."

The tears came again. Anders didn't think he'd had any left. "Please. She was afraid of needles..."

Corpse Grinders security came walking up, but the mortician motioned for her to stand down. "Can I give you some advice?" he asked Anders. "We all mourn the dead. We all wish for different, more peaceful ends for the people we love. But don't let that emotion color what's happening in front of you—what's _really_ happening, I should say."

He leaned forward. "Despite the shell you're seeing in front of you, she's already gone. And all that's really left of her in this world is up here," he pointed to Anders's forehead. "Cherish the memories, not the meat."

The mortician nodded and security escorted Anders firmly through the steel double-doors and out into the lobby. He paced across the small room for what must have been an hour, watching the florescents pulse and flicker against the decaying power grid. Off in the corner, past the receptionist's desk where a brown-haired troll was absently running an oversized nail file across her horns, he spotted a tiny plastic sign that read _Observation Room_.

He stood there, wondering. Maybe the mortician was right. Maybe he should just let her go, accept the unacceptable. That his love of nearly twenty years had gotten herself tagged on what—by all accounts—should have been a milk run, bought and paid for. And that, worst of all, she'd gotten tagged the _one_ time he didn't go with her.

The one time.

That tired little voice in his head had been playing the Blame Game all day, from the moment he'd gotten word from Raina that the run had gone south and that Daze was the sole casualty. He'd wanted to reach through the comm and kill the runners on the other end. Raina sounded happy to be alive. Thrilled, even, since they'd gotten away with most of the goods and would only have to split the profit three ways instead of four.

She didn't even pay Anders the courtesy of telling him all this to his face.

Maybe it was all Raina's fault. Maybe she let her guard down and let Daze-E flatline for that little bump in profit. Raina had been the street sam, after all. Daze's guardian angel. Raina would be blacklisted by most of the fixers in the Sprawl for how everything turned out, but not before she cashed out with the goods. Daze's goods.

But maybe, just maybe, it had been Anders's fault for not going with the group. He'd let Daze convince him it was just going to be a milk run, even though the first thing every shadowrunner learns on the job is that there's no such thing. He let those bright green eyes keep him in place, that wide smile break him down, and that calm, singsong voice convince him that everything was going to be okay. He let her lie to him.

He should've gone.

Presently, Anders walked past the receptionist's desk and turned the corner into the observation room. As fate would have it, Daze-E's body had already been prepped and marked for surgery.

_Surgery_. Is that what it was?

The mortician wrapped a surgical mask around his mouth and began to dictate into the recorder. His voice came amplified over the only working speaker in the observation room. _"Subject is a thirty-eight year old female elf. Name: Daisy Costigan. Cause of death: multiple slug wounds leading to a complete bleedout. Scars around datajack indicate possible dumpshock, but all vital organs—minus the left lung—appear intact according to initial scanning._

_ "Beginning first incision."_

Anders would later find out some unknown art student down in CalFree had paid one lump sum of nuyen for dual reassignment surgery—gender and race—going from male to female, human to elf. Most of Daze's flesh would end up down there, first class shipping in the finest iceboxes money can buy.

The mortician started with Daze-E's face, moving the laser scalpel over her forehead, around her temples, and down under her chin, taking with it the scar she had suffered tripping down the kitchen step of their first apartment. Then there came a bright flash from a device used to detach the musculature from the skin and the mortician pulled her face free without preamble.

He held it up briefly to inspect his work, light from the overhead lamp shining brightly through Daze's empty mouth, nose, and sagging eyelids, illuminating a macabre expression of cosmic indifference that fluttered like a piece of thin cloth.

Anders heard himself cry out in agony, though his own voice seemed miles away. Then, despite the bright surgical lighting and florescents, he saw the floor rising up to meet him and all the world went dark.


	2. This Second-Story Life

_»»»[Are we taking bets before I announce who c&b'd during last night's run? :)]««« - ShyLow (13:05:21/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[Just get the fuck on with it, Shy.]_«««_ - ACR (13:08:56/06-7-54)

___»»»_[Now I don't wanna say. Ass.]_«««_ - ShyLow (13:10:45/06-7-54)

___»»»_[It was Daze-E and her gang, ACR. +1 Temp. -1 Regular. I don't think anyone would've taken that bet.]_«««_ - Armagetty (13:13:31/06-7-54)

___»»»_[? ? ?Daze-E? seriously? she had a flawless record last i checked? ? ?]_«««_ - gatzB (13:19:08/06-7-54)

___»»»_[Hear their temp hosed the op. Streetsam goes by Raina. AKA "Rain." AKA "Blacklisted For All Fragging Eternity."]_«««_ - Armagetty (13:15:42/06-7-54)

* * *

Shadowrun: Daze Gone Bye

Chapter Two – This Second-Story Life

* * *

Raina Dallows placed the barrel of her rifle among the other components and quickly threw her heavy quilt over the table. The chrono of her headware told her she was thirty seconds early.

She was off. A lot of things were off, actually.

Raina blinked away the chrono projection and waited, her arms pressing down on the quilt, pressing down and around all the components of her rifle, big and small, keeping them in place. The back leg of the table wasn't standing straight anymore, so the whole thing rocked when she put more weight on it. When had _that_ happened?

_Three... Two... And one._

The headlights of the 3:23 tram flashed directly into her studio apartment before curving around towards Chipp Street, carrying the rest of the train the length of the building, causing nearly everything that wasn't nailed down to shake vigorously. Fortunately, "everything" wasn't all that much. A few photographs of old friends swung precariously on cheap tacks and wire; the two porcelain lamps at opposite corners of the apartment rattled threw orange light all over the place; and the old duster of a computer sat on the floor atop a strip of cardboard, its monitor bobbing back and forth.

With the passing of the last tram car, a little dust was shaken free from the walls and there came a clacking noise of a few bits of drywall striking the monitor before sliding off onto the mildewed carpet.

Raina exhaled.

Nothing was working out the way it was supposed to. The small refrigerator in near the computer was almost empty, but for a few condiments and a cup of soykaf she bought a few days back and never finished. She wanted to drink it if it was still good, but the last thing she needed to do was keep herself awake. If and when the images of that last run faded, she wanted to sleep as much as possible; it had been three days and she was still alert and on-edge.

She carefully removed the quilt from the table and, with tempered efficiency, reassembled the rifle components until together they were the spitting image of her Colt M22A4. She checked the mag—it was full—and slapped it into the well with a satisfying _click_. The ammo alone was the most expensive thing in the apartment, and selling off the Colt could probably net her enough scrip to buy out the second and third floors. It sounded tempting from time to time, mostly when the ork couple upstairs were going at it, knocking more dust off the walls than the 3:23.

But then all she'd really have would be two empty floors of a rundown apartment with nothing but a fridge, a struggling computer, and a few pictures to fill them with. Sometimes she thought of downgrading one more time to a nearby coffin motel. At least then she wouldn't be forced to entertain dreams of filling up the empty space with furniture and appliances and all the luxuries she'd promised herself she would have by now. She should be living the high life, not this second-story life.

She had to admit to herself one more time: A lot of things were off these days.

Especially after that last run with Daze-E.

The low chirp of her telecomm chased the thoughts away. She had rerouted her number through the computer so her headware wouldn't shock her awake if she happened to fall asleep. Some good that did, twenty-four sleepless hours later.

Raina tried to hit the key to accept the call, but it was stuck. Whoever had owned the keyboard before leaving it on the curb outside had spilled some kind of drink into it. Now when the keys didn't stick, they froze in place, and vice versa. Finally, she leaned on the button and the call connected with a quiet ping.

_"—dammit... Raina!"_ came a familiar voice. After a few seconds of buffering, the low-res video came through, as well. _"Raina, can you hear me?"_

"Yeah, Thek, I can hear you." It was the rigger from Daze-E's run. She'd gotten to know the elf decently well before then through a few other runs and word-of-mouth, but if they had bypassed the acquaintance phase and reached personal call levels of familiarity, she hadn't noticed. "What's up?"

The motorboy was at a stationary comm, street-level by the looks of it. He was pouring sweat and looking over his shoulder more than addressing the camera. _"Pack up your stuff and get to a safe house, all right? Wherever you are, it's not safe. He'll find you. I can't figure out how, but he found me..."_ He turned his back on the camera for a moment.

"Who found you?" Raina asked, leaning closer to the monitor. "Are you all right, Thek?"

_"That guy we met before the run on that tavern. Daze-E's fling."_

Raina thought back to the call she'd made after the run. The look of incomparable loss—and rage. "Anders? Thek, is it Anders?"

_"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's the guy. He's super-fucking pissed, Rain. Probably 'cause of what happened to Daze. Came at me with a damn hatchet outside SeaTac. Lone Star didn't even blink an eye!"_

"Calm down."

_"No... no, no, no, I gotta keep moving. I don't know how I'm gonna get out of the Sprawl now, but I gotta. You should, too."_

"How the hell do you propose I do that, Thek?"

_"I don't fragging know. Walk barefoot through Salish territory if you gotta, but I'm jamming. I'll see you if I see you. Don't say no one did nothing for you—"_

The feed was interrupted by the loud pop of someone slamming into the camera, and the quick movements and loud cries caused the stream to pause and buffer. When it resolved, Thek was gone from the image, but the back of someone hunched over the ground was visible. Every few seconds, a hatchet rose into view and was brought down, each time it came up it was covered in another layer of blood and bits of bone.

Trembling, Raina cut the feed from her end so she couldn't be seen. The hatchet came down a few more times until its owner was satisfied. Anders rose into view, his face pale and spattered with blood. Under his arm was Thek's mutilated head, crudely severed. Anders ran his fingers around a gash near Thek's hairline and dug in. His face strained as he fought with something that eventually gave. Thek's datajack tore loose from his skull, taking with it a cluster of neurocircuitry with chunks of brain still attached.

Anders dropped the head and turned the bloody datajack around in his hands, a sick little smile spreading across his face. He must have noticed the telecomm just then, because the smile faded and he leaned in close enough to the camera to fog up the image.

_"Who is this...?"_ he whispered.

Raina brought her hand down on the keyboard and ended the call. She sat in silence for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. She finally correctly determined her life was in grave danger, and stood to pack her things. She was out the door with one half-empty suitcase only a few minutes later.

Why was everything going so wrong?


	3. Eye of the Mind

___»»»_[I need to find a shadowrunner named Thek. He's an elf twenty years out of Tir, used to run motorboy with Mister Buch's crew a few years back down in Puyallup.]___«««_ - Ender _(16:14:20/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[You have to know there's a wee bit of a stigma against turning over runners to hostile parties. The line that sets us apart from slot gangs is thin enough as it is.]___«««_ - ShyLow _(16:16:01/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[Is he still a runner if he's been blacklisted by most fixers in the city?]___«««_ - Ender _(16:17:57/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[? ? ?is a bird still a bird if its wings have been clipped? ? ?]___«««_ - gatzB _(16:19:13/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[It's a bit of a coincidence that Rain and the gang hose a run down at that "tavern" and someone comes looking for one of the gang. Revenge play? Those don't go anywhere, man.]___««« _- ShyLow _(16:21:21/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[They got a valuable runner killed. Got themselves blacklisted for skipping the scene with the goods. Not to mention my personal stake. Call it revenge, justice, or just plain business if you want. I need to find those runners. Daze-E deserved better than to be dumpshocked and shot up.]___«««_ - Ender _(16:23:11/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[Look, I'm only telling you this because I'm certain most everyone here loved Daze. I know Rain went dark and Hester skipped town, but Thek spent a little too much time bouncing between fences before buying a ticket for a plane out of SeaTac.]___«««_ - ShyLow _(16:31:42/06-7-54)_

___»»»_[If you're gonna let him live, leave him thankful to be alive. If you're gonna kill him, leave him wishing for a swift death. He's not one of us.]___«««_ - ACR _(16:40:09/06-7-54)_

* * *

Shadowrun: Daze Gone Bye

Chapter Three – Eye of the Mind

* * *

The small window of Anders's coffin was fogged by a few decades' worth of calcium deposits, but the green neon running the edges of the towering Renraku Arcology filtered in without hindrance. It hid the blood and the lines in Anders's face, true to form on a wider scale.

As he lay upon the thin mattress and pillow with his face only a hand's length from the ceiling, he contemplated the two datajacks in his hand. The first was smaller, more contoured, and in any other light it would have been a bright shade of pink. The first was Daze-E's: the only thing of hers the mortician allowed Anders to take. The second was an older model, rectangular with rounded corners, scuffed up around the slot and it was still sticky with drying blood. The second was Thek's, fresh from the depths of his skull.

When he tried to set the datajacks aside and get some rest, his hands trembled enough to keep him awake. And the green light filtered in—Renraku always looming in the periphery.

Finishing off the tiny plastic bottle of watered-down whiskey from the minibar finally got him into a state of mind where he could seriously contemplate doing what he'd come to this coffin motel to do. From his pack, he produced a modified simsense deck that Daze-E had used rather frequently throughout her running career.

To Daze-E, every run was an opportunity to improve, to correct mistakes and strengthen weakness. Like the coach of an urban brawl team, she obsessively reviewed their plays so that the other team would never get the upper hand. And every shadowrunner she brought into the fold was required to be slotted with a simsense chip. No exceptions.

Hitting the Shadowlands BBS netted him the elven motorboy from Daze-E's last run, but the other two, Raina and Hester, would be tougher to find now that they very likely knew he was on their trail. Going through the simsense chips from Daze-E and Thek's datajacks would be the only way to track them down. But he didn't want to. Not one bit. He could never understand how Daze-E could spend so much time in other people's heads, but there was a marked difference between the recordings of a run and what he was about to experience. It was the difference between a sports play and a snuff film.

Anders toggled the hatch of the minibar and downed another tiny whiskey bottle from its stock. The alcohol wasn't really helping with the stress, but it was doing wonders for his hesitation. He casually powered up the simsense deck, watched the little screen fill with white boot text, and waited for the little blue smiley face to appear before he jacked in Daze-E's chip. The little smiley face took on a ponderous expression, and a staggered ellipses let him know the data was being loaded.

A few minutes and one more tiny bottle later, the blue smiley face turned green. Without giving himself any time to think about what he was about to see, he slipped the sim halo around his skull. The staggered ellipses returned, ensuring the electronic connection to his brain was optimal.

It was.

He hit the playback button. His body went stiff with the electrical current running through him. He felt cold, then hot, then wet; he heard voices, then the rain, then silence. Eventually, the projected senses coalesced and the memory came through vivid—and he heard his own voice in the distance—

–

_[simsense/playback:_

_ sub: dze_

_ user: anders_

_ time: 03:23:07/06-8-54_

_ initiate...]_ I can hear my own voice coming from the other room as the memory sharpens, gradually climbing from a blurry onslaught of light, shadows, and sound into an image that looks indistinguishable from reality. I am looking through Daze-E's eyes, feeling the weight of the cyberdeck on her back and the calm rhythm of her heartbeat beneath the swell of her breasts, smelling the rain on the breeze pouring in through our apartment windows, and tasting the meal of synthesized strawberry jam and toast in her mouth.

I turn her head and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Even though I definitely feel calm, I don't look it. There's a sheen of sweat on my face and a few strands of my red hair are stuck to my cheek. Everything has been planned out for tonight's run, and we even found a good temp for Anders while I—_he—_is out of commission with that fever. I don't like not having him by my side when the drek hits the fan, but bringing in a temp is better than possibly seeing him get worse. I'm worried about him, but maybe a day off will do him some good.

Hopefully. I don't know if I could do another run without him.

I push my hair back behind my pointed ears and follow Anders's voice to the living room. Despite the fever, he can't keep himself from playing the dedicated fixer, ensuring all the runners are en-route, fully supplied, and aware of everything the job will entail. Regardless of the fact that I'll be going over everything with the crew two or three more times on the way to the job site. The way he worries about me... I don't know, it just makes me happy.

Anders is carrying around a glass of ice water in one hand and pressing a cold pack to his forehead with the other while he rambles on to my crew through his headware, looking all business and super serious until he sees me walk into the room. He brightens up—well, as much as a man can manage with that kind of fever burning up his brain.

"Just make sure you three are on your way to the rendezvous point in under ten minutes," he says. "Daze is about to take off right now, and she's not the waiting type. You're not wageslaves, you're shadowrunners. Be there early." He blinks twice to cut the comm and favors me with a weary kind of smile that makes me blush at the effort.

"You shouldn't be on your feet," I say, pressing the back of my hand to his temple. He was still burning up. "The whole reason we brought in Raina was so that you could put your feet up for the night."

He takes a sip of ice water. "Yeah, well—" He suddenly breaks out into a fit of coughs that forces him down into the recliner. After he's able to catch his breath, he looks up at me. "Timing."

"You were about to argue."

"I was about to argue, yeah."

I take a seat on the recliner's armrest and reach over to take his hand. He recoils a little bit. Sometimes he forgets that it's a little tougher for elves to catch a typical human bug. It's cute. "Rest. Please."

"I should be going with you." He sounds miserable, but I question how much of it is from the illness. "I should've gone to a doctor when I first felt woozy. Now I gotta sit here and... I don't even know what I'm gonna do."

"Catch up on _Wyrm Talk_?" I say with a grin.

He snickers. "Believe it or not, I don't find dragons interesting enough to sit through an hour-long talk show. Regardless of how charming that Dunkle-guy is."

"Well, you're gonna have to watch them because I will not—repeat, _will not—_be watching this next season all by myself. You'll just have to suffer through it."

Anders blows his nose into a handkerchief, and says with a nasally voice, "More than I already am?"

"More than you already are."

"Is this that the ol' elvish charm you're working on me? The thing everyone always warns me about?"

"Is it working?"

He cocked his head. "Right now, I wish it wasn't." The worry lines on his forehead recede and he finally relents and takes my hand in his. "Just be careful, okay? Word on the net is that tavern might be hotter than we thought."

"I have no doubt."

"Just be careful," he repeats. "If things go to drek..."

"I'll sound the retreat." I kiss him and we touch our foreheads together. I can feel the heat from his fever radiating through my skin. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon—"

–

_[simsense/skipforward:_

_ sub: dze_

_ user: anders_

_ time: 03:37:12/06-8-54_

_ initiate...]_ We always knew the tavern Mr. Johnson tasked us with robbing was much more than it appeared. It's on Renraku property, so right away we're talking about the reddest of flags. But there had been no guards outside. A few inside, certainly, but nothing to really get worried about.

I'm working on hacking the door into the back room when Raina starts to get antsy. "There's something off here, guys," she says. I pretend like I hadn't heard and start pulling up the correct IC and spikes on my deck. Doesn't take me that long. I figure, judging by the port, that they're only running a RenSEC v46 security program for the door. It's the most basic security algorithm still in general circulation, but I still don't take any chances. I call up a little trojan to test the pushback. I haven't avoided flatlining all these years by making assumptions.

"Give it a rest, Rain," Thek says, never failing to speak his mind when the opportunity allows. It's why I bring him along so often. "Just be ready. Keep the suspicions and the spider-sense shit to yourself."

Hester, our formidable mage, takes a second out of her night to laugh at Thek's little reference. "We're not supposed to be having fun in here, Thek."

Thek throws on a fake grin. "Who's having fun?"

"Not Raina."

In response, Raina turns and stares daggers at Thek and Hester, hefting that Colt rifle as if she intends to use it. "Just thinking out loud. Maybe we shoulda brought more people."

I finally humor her. "Four runners are fine for this job if we take it slow." I get a ping back from my trojan, giving us the all-clear for my spike. Within a second of my hitting the EXECUTE button, the electronic deadbolt whines and retracts. With a big smile on my face, I turn, playfully flick the barrel of Raina's Colt, and repeat, "_Slow_."

That seems to calm her down. Not sure why. "Okay."

"All right." I nod at Thek, who already has his little assault drone, Buster, ready to be our point man. "Clear the next room, if you would."

"With pleasure." He plugs the little droid transmitter into his datajack and I can see readouts flickering inside his cybereyes. "Go, Buster, go."

The drone excitedly spins once and hovers toward the door, which I gradually push open until the crack is wide enough for the little machine to pass through, then I pull it closed.

"Legolas, what do your elf eyes see?" I ask.

Thek shakes his head. "The intense sensation of disappointment I'm feeling right now is overriding my driving ability here." He looks around the room, guiding the drone's camera. "Looks like a bunch of shelves... more shelves... a couple empty wine bottles and a walk-in freezer."

"No guards?"

"No nothin'."

"Is there a panel on the walk-in?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Not that I can see."

I don't like the sounds of this. Why were there guards around if there's nothing in this building to guard? "Nothing that looks like a sensor? Camera? Are you getting any kind of electronic feedback?"

"Scanning all frequencies, all corners. There's nothing in there."

Despite giving Raina a hard time, I'm starting to agree with her. There's something off about this place. "Okay, keep Buster trained on that door. Shoot anything that comes out."

"Roger that. Shoot indiscriminately."

"Raina, find some cover behind Buster. You'll be going in first. Hester, you and I will follow Raina."

The mage nods and snaps her fingers. Sparks fly. "You got it, Boss."

"Thek, you wait here until we clear that walk-in."

The elf nods. "Roger that. Waiting indiscriminately."

"Pain in the ass," Hester whispers, smiling.

"Mission accomplished."

We move into the next room with Raina on point behind the drone. She sweeps her Colt around the room, letting the lamp mounted on the barrel illuminate the darker corners. We find nothing out of the ordinary for an abandoned tavern. But it's not _just_ an abandoned tavern, isn't it?

"Clear," Raina barks.

"Okay." I holster my pistol and moved to the walk-in freezer; a bit of a misnomer, since it was effectively room temperature at this point. "Unless we somehow missed a room—"

"We didn't," Thek calls out from the doorway.

"—then Mr. Johnson's goods have to be in this walk-in."

"Seems unlikely," Hester says, scratching her nose. "Smells like mold. If you hadn't told me Renraku was listed on the lease, I would've told you this looks like your average tavern."

"I guess we'll find out." I unto the chain latch on the walk-in door and pull back the handle. The heavy door swings wide, delaying a most interesting reveal. "Damn..."

Hester chuckles. "Did I happen to say something along the lines of 'Seems unlikely'?"

Thek makes the little drone nod and blink an affirmative.

"Guess my spider-sense isn't as refined as Raina's."

Raina, thankfully, doesn't rise to the prodding.

I approach the safe door, set almost perfectly inside the mouth of the walk-in. Thinking about it, it makes sense; the freezers are already lined with lead so building a safe inside of one was just a matter of adding a heavy door and a padlock.

"Time for the final breach," I say, and swing the deck down off my shoulder. "I know I said this wasn't gonna be a windfall or anything, but a safe this size makes me think they're stowing more than just what our Mr. Johnson needs."

Thek finally decides to join the group. "Fingers crossed for some sweet, sweet incriminating data."

Raina looks over her shoulder, still looking uncertain as ever.

But I know we're almost through here. Just one more door.

I hook my deck into the padlock and get a trojan ready to test the security type. Safety first.

The elf sighs. "Do you really gotta do that with every door? You waste time like an elf?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"We have all the time, but none of the patience. Humans have all the patience, but none of the time." Thek looks pleased with himself. "Put that on a plaque and sell it."

"Right." Hester is stifling a laugh. "Take that back to Boonie and I'm sure he'll laugh you out the door."

"That guy has mad respect for me. Just watch, he's gonna buy us drinks when we get back—and he's gonna have a novelty sticker to hand out of that drek shop he has going—"

I smile—and for some reason, I'm thinking of Anders.

My trojan comes back tainted, and it starts overheating my datajack to the point where it feels like it's burning a hole through my head.

I can hear myself screaming, scratching at the jack to yank the connection, but my hands can't find the plug. There are flashes erupting from Raina's gun and Hester steps over me with electricity arcing between her fingertips. I'm on my back now, convulsing. I'm still trying to yank the cord from my skull, but my hands come back with clumps of my own hair instead.

This is it. That warm feeling that twists you about and kicks you into something resembling Limbo. Dumpshock is setting in. I've never been this scared in my life. Raina looks at me, looks at the cord and my smoldering datajack. Her hand leaves her weapon for a brief moment, but a bullet connects with the wall beside her and she yelps. She trips over my body running for the exit—

–

Anders couldn't take any more. He brought the simsense safeword to mind and repeated it mentally over and over. The chaos of Daze-E's memories started to withdraw, fading back and back until Anders found himself in the hotel coffin. Alone.

Looking over at the tiny mirror beside him, he half-expected to see Daze-E looking back, but there was nothing. He could still hear her thoughts echoing off the walls of his mind, making it harder for him to accept that the woman who'd made them was truly gone. He reached for another bottle of whiskey, but the minibar was empty. He cursed and thrashed and cried into his hands, occasionally whimpering her name, praying that she'd reply.

But then another name came to him:

_Boonie_.

He'd heard the name before. Boonie was a fence and a one-time fixer out of the Barrens, and it was possible he'd come into possession of Hester and Raina's whereabouts since the tavern job went down. It was a small lead, but he had to wonder just how small.

Anders eased back down onto his bed, and held up Thek's datajack to the light.


End file.
